


you asked me to hold this for you (i am holding this for you)

by playedwright



Series: the universe was made to be seen by our eyes [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Pining, Recovery, alternate universe - astronauts, hand holding, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22694122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: Eddie crouches down next to him. “Rich,” he says softly, and Richie hates it. “What are you doing?”“I don’t know,” Richie says petulantly, but there’s truth laced in his words because he’s not sure how he got here or when he got here and what he’s been doing for that entire time.“You should be sleeping.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: the universe was made to be seen by our eyes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565464
Comments: 33
Kudos: 570





	you asked me to hold this for you (i am holding this for you)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for some implied PTSD ? not sure if that is a thing but richie's going through it y'all. read with caution as needed <3
> 
> hello back again with another post from tumblr! you can find the original [here](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/post/190783356370/you-posted-more-writing-prompts-and-like-a-literal), and you can thank actual angel [dev](https://gczebos.tumblr.com/) for this one and for encouraging me to never leave this universe (i love it <3)  
> anyways! onto the interlude!

The worst thing so far isn’t even the nightmares.

Richie knows it should be. Or maybe it should be the countless tests he endures every day to make sure his body is still healing. Or the endlessly bland diet that still makes him sick to his stomach most days. Maybe it should be the pitying looks his crewmates give him when he catches himself talking out loud and looks up to see if they’ve noticed. The bed that feels too soft after spending so long sleeping on Martian rock.

No, the worst thing so far is the sleepless nights.

He feels like he’s wandering around the _Hermes_ like a ghost.

Part of him is grateful for the night hours, since the rest of the crew is asleep and it gives him a moment’s reprieve from their worried eyes and helpful hands. But the rest of him is guilty over knowing that he feels this way, that he feels _smothered_ by them in some ways. For hours, for weeks, for _months,_ all he wanted was to get back to his crew and his family. They gave up everything for him, and this is what he gives them back.

He’s not sure when he ends up in the kitchen, but he only registers it when the sound of the automatic door signals as someone walks in. Richie sits on the floor, hunched in over himself, and in his hands and all around him are packets and packets of food.

Eddie crouches down next to him. “Rich,” he says softly, and Richie _hates_ it. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Richie says petulantly, but there’s truth laced in his words because he’s not sure how he got here or when he got here and what he’s been doing for that entire time.

“You should be sleeping.”

Richie’s fingers tighten around a silver food pack. “I can’t.”

Eddie’s face softens. “Richie, if you’re not sleeping, we have stuff on board for that, it can help you.”

“No, Jesus, I don’t need it,” Richie mutters. He pulls his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, not quite sure when Eddie grabbed onto him in the first place. “My sleep schedule was a lot more fucked than this on Mars, I’m good.”

“Richie,” Eddie sighs. “You were counting the food packets.”

His blood runs cold. It makes sense, now that Eddie says it, that this is what he was doing. How many nights did he spend on Mars counting his potatoes over and over and over again, compulsively needing to reassure himself that there was enough to get him through? How much sleep has he lost over this same thing since coming back to the _Hermes_?

“Fuck,” he mutters, embarrassed and frustrated and choked up for some reason he can’t articulate. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s already shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize,” he tells Richie, and he comes out of his squat to rest on his knees, taking the food packets out of Richie’s grip. “Can I help you count?”

“What?”

Richie looks at him, dazed and surprised. But Eddie’s face is picture-perfect sincerity, no concern in sight. All Richie can see written across Eddie’s features is a genuine desire to help him through this. His throat swells up again.

“If I help you count, we’ll be done faster, then you can get some sleep, right?” Eddie asks. It sounds logical as he says it like that.

Richie nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Do you need me to teach you how to count again? I know you probably forgot during medical school.”

“Beep, beep,” Eddie says softly. He dumps a container of food packets on the ground between their legs then puts the empty container back in the cabinet. He drops a packet in and looks at Richie expectantly. “One.”

“Wait,” Richie says, and Eddie stops reaching for another packet. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong, Richie?” Eddie asks, patient as always. He makes a great fucking doctor. Richie’s heart is gonna pound right out of his chest. All he can do is sit here and love Eddie Kaspbrak and hope that it’s enough.

He feels embarrassed to even ask, but the words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can even think to stop them. “Can I hold your hand?”

“What?”

Richie’s face might be on fire. God, he hasn’t talked to a person face to face in eighteen months, and he’s reverted back to the same nerdy kid he was when he was, like, six, who blushed any time he opened his mouth. He feels idiotic for asking, ridiculous for wanting something that seems so _juvenile_ now that it’s out in the open, but he thinks it would help. He knows it would help. The reassuring weight of another’s hand in his would be enough to take the world off of his shoulders.

“Can I hold your hand?” Richie repeats, voice only a little bit stronger than it was. Eddie’s expression goes soft again. “While we count? It’ll… I think it’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course,” Eddie says, like it’s easy, then his right hand slides against Richie’s left hand until their fingers are twined and something slots into place in Richie’s chest. “I should be making fun of you for this.”

“I’d allow it,” Richie tells him honestly.

But Eddie just picks up another food packet and drops it into the container. “Two,” he says, and then he raises an eyebrow at Richie. “You sure you didn’t forget how to count? I’m doing all the hard work here. There was no one to tutor you on Mars, after all.”

“Ooh, Eds gets off on a good one,” Richie says. He halfheartedly throws the closest food packet to him into the bin, grinning broadly when it actually makes it in. “Good to see my NBA career is still on track. Three.”

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie says around a sigh, but he squeezes Richie’s hand as he picks up a different food packet and tries to replicate the same shot, and Richie feels wildly at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SPACERICHlE) if you want to come say hello!


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